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Bryony Capper (goodlight) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Bryony smiled as he kissed her, the contact so familiar it barely registered beyond the general happiness that was getting to see Marcus. "I'm fine, thank you. You?" She didn't really need to ask. "Happy you won yesterday? Aunt Hecuba was out, so I listened to the whole match!" She beamed at him, happy that he'd won, happy that she'd had the freedom to listen - and to sketch at the same time. Short of actually getting to see a match in person she could think of little better. And that more or less answered his second question too. London life was being very good to her, giving her time and space to do - more or less - things she actually wanted to do. There was still her aunt, but Bryony would have found living without any kind of chaperone rather alarming.

"You started without me," she said, spotting the sliced vegetables and pulling her wand from her sleeve. With a flick, she tied her hair back into bunches (less unflattering to her round face than a single ponytail) and stepped closer to the counter. "What are we having and how can I help?" Though there had always been elves to cook at home, all three Capper girls had been taught the basics of cooking. Bryony wasn't exactly confident in her skills, but she could follow instructions. As she turned towards him she noticed his arms by his sides, sleeves rolled up. Unusual, but she wasn't going to make a fuss about it. Marcus had never needed to hide the Mark from her, she'd known only too well that he hadn't truly wanted it, or any of the things it brought.

Perhaps someone without an artist's attention to detail wouldn't have noticed, but even in that quick glance Bryony could tell something was different. The Mark had never been so large. "Marcus?" There was worry evident in her voice as she stepped back towards him, taking his arm and turning it so she could see. Her first thought had been either that he'd burned himself or that - somehow - the Mark had spread. Had it started to disintegrate somehow? What would that mean if it had? But as she looked down it was obvious this was no random dispersal. This didn't even look like the Mark. It was an entirely new pattern. She touched her fingertips to it curious, as if expecting to find wet ink or paint. But Marcus' skin just felt like skin. "Is this permanent?"